Time After Time
by A Schoolday
Summary: (Request) An antique store in the small town of Boswell, Indiana sells a woman a grandfather clock that slowly destroys her daughter. Michele finds herself trapped in an immortal moment switched to a total rewind.
1. Chapter 1

When the pairs of feet ran they left contrails. They chased a hellish screams with great panic. Soon these people felt sorry for being so portentous, when they came to a stop at the opening door and their daughter's room was in full view.

Their son, the younger, was ousted. He sprinted out with his hand not leaving his snickering mouth. They call him to come back and Tommy sheepishly made a turn back around with his snickering swallowed. His mouth shifted to a flat slit of uncertainty. Michele ducked back in the room to grab her costume and put it in their faces. It was for an unimportant school play but it meant a lot to her. Now it was ruined with a black stain on the chest that made out words. Mr. Webster pulls the clothes closer with his eyes squinted.

"...'Michele has a big butt'," he dictates. When he repeats it louder, it comes from memory, "It says 'Michele has a big butt'."

"Tommy needs to buzz off forever, da!"

"Now honey, there are a lot of girls born with bigger backsides than others. In some places it's a cultural symbol of beauty," says her mother. Tommy giggles like a toddler in light of toilet humor.

"I don't have a big butt," Michele whines.

Mrs. Webster takes the costume to the bathroom, since she no longer has her office to work in. It now belongs to Tommy, an early red flag of his annoying dominance over the family. Her father stays with her to talk more. To be expected, he takes the side of his younger son over his older daughter.

"Remember he's seven." He tweaks her nose. "And you're eleven."

"Twelve," Michele boasts. Tomorrow would be her 12th birthday. They planned a house party with everyone, including her baby brother. She frowns at that thought. She haggled with her dad about not inviting him, to keep him locked in his room for the day as a way to quarantine him. The answer was a heretical no, he was a bit of a strict man as it is. With his health conscious attitude that he pressed on his family among other things. Her mother was a workaholic, and weird. She came back with the costume "fixed", in her words. The penmanship wasn't washed out but instead crossed out in the same black ink. As if that would make the costume look anymore presentable.

The upcoming play meant a lot to her because her crush, who will be playing the prince, is participating. She didn't care about her lines; her first line is Mohammad Deaton, her last line is Mohammad Deaton, the name of her character is Mohammad Deaton, her personality traits are Mohammad Deaton, two plus two equals Mohammad Deaton. He looked like a handsome Disney prince during rehearsal, long black bristly eyelashes and a dip of shiny brown hair. He was tall, and played basketball; the lord of boyish charisma.

More noise happened later that day, downstairs became an echo chamber of metallic sliding and grunts. Their cat, Babs, howled from the unpleasant sounds invading her sensory. Mrs. Webster was leading in two men into the house. The rest of the family gathered at the den all dressed in their pajamas after the two delivery men left, with new cash in their hands. Something was added to the den, it stood out like a nasty sore. A gaudy grandfather clock that made Michele sweat was standing with his back to the wall.

"Oh mom I don't know what to say, " she says through grip together teeth.

Her mother looked at it from every angle. From close up to examine it individually, and from further away to see how it looks with its surroundings. Either way it was still ugly, to everyone else.

She puts her hands on her hips and twists her grinning head back at her. "It's for me!"

Michele smiles too but out of cold humor. "Isn't it _my_ birthday?"

"No Hermana, not that thing," her husband moans. He rubs his head and closes his eyes.

Tommy tried to scale it like a building. His rump arched up when his little legs and arms tied around the hulk. The clock did not get taken off balance and fall to its side. It was as strong as a tree trunk and supported the extra weight generously.

"Hey look I'm King Kong!" Tommy exclaimed. Mrs. Webster rushed to his side to pry him off quickly but gently. She demands that her children agree to never touch this clock, or even enter the den for some time. Tommy begrudgingly says "yes", but Michele remains silent. Her eyes still transfixed onto the antique in some sort of morbid fascination. It looked like something that would posses a magical genie. Little strokes of red, blue and gold designs were carefully painted onto the black wood. It had many doors, most small but one visually bigger than the rest. Presumingly the cuckoo bird is meant to eject from that one. The strangest thing about it was the way it records time unlike every other clock. Without flaw it marks not only the current time but date and year through extra digits. It was eerie, like a calendar tracking the rest of their lives.

Michele was barked at to answer her mother's question. Without further wait she agrees to the promise she didn't remember what it was for.

#

A pink banner festooned over the living room with Michele's name on it, and the number twelve adjacent to the right. A pile of banana foster pancakes was ready at the kitchen table. This was her dad's work, along with the banner. It was a sweet, desert-like breakfast but beneficial to your health from all the fruit. If not for Tommy sitting at the table with her, this day could have at least started off perfect. He mocks her from the other end and reminded her why her birthday won't end perfectly.

"Guess whose invited to your party, me!"

Michele wanted to play tee ball with his head, and smash a bat in his face. It was tempting with his meaty red lips on his white face, he reminded her of a baseball. A white baseball with lines of red seams around it. His skinny body would make a great tee to hold his head up. Whenever someone claims she looked like him she felt a tingle of disgust. Other than dense brown hair and light skin, there was no comparison.

Before the party starts her parents give in, and take her to the garage for an early gift. Michele did not know why they needed to hide a guitar in such a big space but her gratitude didn't make her care. She picked up the present; it was light for a big instrument and painted purple with red stars. A little childish for a preteen but perfect for a beginner like her. She was happy until spotting a familiar sight upon it. Tommy has marked his territory with black penmanship a second time. The same exact insulting phrase was printed next to the middle hole. The egregious handwriting of a seven year old have burned into her memory.

Her friends approached the house with gifts. They consisted of mostly girls but a few boys were included. What all the boys had in common was that Michele befriended them through basketball. One of them, was Mohammad Deaton. He came dressed nicely in a clean black tee and moss green short while the other guys wore their dirty jerseys. The gift he brought was the smallest, but the one Michele was most excited about. It was a small tight square bound in pretty wrapping paper. She concluded it was a music cd or a video game for the computer or PlayStation.

She opened it first and it was in fact, a musical cd. The collection of friends all loudly mused as they sat on the floor in the living room.

"Thanks so much Mo, how did you know I liked..." She flipped it over to the back and front several times before deciphering the name, "...'Mercury Smash'?"

He tousled his own hair shyly. "I thought I heard you say you liked them before so I picked it up."

Tommy, who also was conjoined to the circle, spoke up, "she never heard of them in her life but she pretends to like them, 'cuz she's in love!"

Everyone laughed as Michele sunk her blushing face into the collar of her clothes. Mohammad just laughs along unknowingly. Tommy continued to make her fester in humiliation. He quotes the back of her diary, verbatim and in order of where the words are scribbled.

"'Mrs. Michele Deaton'! 'Mrs. Michele Deaton'! 'Mrs. Michele Jaclyn Deaton'!" He dances around the crowd while everyone laughs. Michele would have killed him if not for the fact that her father calls her into the kitchen to fetch the cake and bring it out. It was a heavy chocolate cake with at least three pounds of frosting. How he was willing to put aside his issues with weight gain even for his child's birthday was beyond him. Michele wobbled into the living room slowly, this begged for disaster. Even her friends watched with invested grinning faces to see if she can successfully deliver it. No one will know, as Tommy pulls out his hand to trip her.

She picks her head up which also picked up an entire layer of brown frosting. She regretted not keeping her head in the cake, there she couldn't hear the roars of laughter through the chocolate build up in her ears. Tommy jumps up and down, he releases a scream of enjoyment that can be heard among the rest.

#

Michele couldn't go to sleep with the remains of the day haunting the night. She couldn't close her eyes without feeling the oozing of cake filling slamming into her eyes. The closest she ever got to dreaming was having a late night hallucination of the new grandfather clock breaking its doors open to release an army of Tommys. The difference is that they were smaller and had the bodies of some type of avian, like a hawk. The harpies swooped off the laager of the clock to peck at her arms. They had no beaks but somehow left behind marks on her, black runny scars cried over her. Michele did not have to wake up, just stand up to end this vision. An awful plan was made in short time.

She stalks her way downstairs to leer at the clock. Now 11:59 and soon to be midnight. Even though she was short, the main door was perfectly reachable. When 12:00 has been reached it noisily opens, the cuckoo bird slings out. It off puts Michele at first, he had scary blue eyes that were bigger than her wrists, and he shrieked in a way little birds aren't supposed to. He looked very realistic but still had cartoony features. Before he can slink back, She crushes the bird with one hand. The little head made another but quieter shriek, as it now is broken to face his tail feathers. Michele went to sleep a little happier with the knowledge that Tommy will be blamed for it the next day.


	2. Chapter 2

Michele woke up grinning ear to ear. It was an hour earlier than her usual waking up point but she had energy. The noise of her family hustling downstairs was a sign. It was a sign that her plan ran its course over night. There was a problem though, she didn't hear scolding or complaining; these sounds were of labored grunts. Michele moused down the stairs to fully gain in the contexts of the situation.

Her dad was barefoot on a ladder as he pins on a banner. A huge pink banner saying "Michele's 12th birthday", with "birthday" having a lowercased first letter. It did not take amazing deduction skills for her to recognize it as the same one from yesterday in an insight. This made Michele wiggle her brow. He does not share a glance with her and focuses on his task. He does, however, take time to talk.

"Good! You're up early. Help your mother put together the goodie bags."

An ersatz of the day before so it seems, Michele lowly chortles at the joke. "Oh I get it. So how's that clock holding up?"

The father pauses with a hammer in mid-swing. At last he looks her way with a big frown. It took Michele no time to rush him on his way to the precious, expensive grandfather clock. And at a good time too, at 8:57. In three minutes the broken mechanical bird will reveal itself to Mr. Webster. He knew his wife would find it unacceptable to manually peel back the doors by hand to see it ahead of the stroke of 9:00. Michele counted back the dying seconds until the next hour while her dad stood impatient. When the bell tolled, he flies out flapping his wings at full vitality. The head pointed forward with his beak opening and closing at them. Her mom must have fixed it, Michele thought. Her will to not be afraid dangles by a weak thread.

Like a teenage boy, Michele relaxes in her room shirtless. Her body was more like a little boy, and just as short. The ribcage was sunken in above her small belly. She was stringy like Tommy but he had an excuse as a child his age. Her body was still underdeveloped even at her twelfth birthday, her second twelfth birthday, it felt. Michele folds her pants down to her ankles with her body at the window. She yanks the string and the blinds fall over the pane to cover it. The horizontal slits in between the white folds would only display extremely small portions of her naked flesh. Boswell houses were not that far apart, at least not in this neck of the neighborhood.

Footsteps beat the stairs and wavered the floor of her bedroom. Michele flapped her arms around, then made a still stop in motion until the sound dies out. She took the opportunity to try on her costume, the princess garment with the comment "mishel has a big but" on the heart. The bold stripe of black her mom canceled it out with remained. There must have been a way for her to wash it out, especially if it was in washable marker. To further ruin it, Michele accidentally rips it at the armpits.

"No!" She crows. Quickly she pulls it off to study the tear, panting in silent terror. Small white hairs fringed it, any more pulling can stretch it down to the hip area. Michele once again was standing in her underwear. Her thin legs were unevenly bending out of them and out of her cloudy socks. They straighten and almost unhinge when the door growls.

 _Boswell! France! Do a dance! Look at Michele in her underpants!_

Tommy chanted the song he created in a few seconds prior. The people he brought upstairs shadowed behind him, all her friends. A couple of them joined in the song with their eyes lightened up. These eyes followed her skin with every roll. Michele pounced upon her bed and planted her entire body under the blanket. She croaked a shaky scream at Tommy as she turns red under the freckles of her shoulders. What hurt her the most was hearing Mohammad sighing, if he had laughed instead it would have indicated something more positive. He sounded disappointed as if he expected more from Michele. She jumped to the conclusion that he thought she was stupid, mostly for not locking her door. It was insane to think Tommy would give time away to invite all her friends over at her junior high school to their house for such a dirty joke.

Even though the last thing she wanted to do was face her friends today, her being goes against those wishes. Michele dressed herself up in overalls, something that will take effort to remove in case she has to again. In the process, the consequences should come to mind. She was lucky that she had clothes on before being dragged downstairs by an invisible force. One by one her legs move to the rhythm of a choppy song, on their way to the kitchen. There she ran into her mother who was holding the cake.

She places it into Michele's unwillingly open hands and says, "take this out now, be careful with it."

 _Why was her daughter trembling?_ , the parent thought. Like a robot Michele found herself trapped in more unwanted movement. The cake was held at a distance and her feet shuffled to the living room. She had the thought she was blessed with a second chance to fix her abysmal previous birthday. When Tommy pulls out his hands, she will hop over it. That's all, just hop over it.

Her ankle was lightly tugged and her face crashed down on the cake. It wasn't that her mind didn't react fast enough, something weighted her down. There is some ultra force trapping her in a cycle on one of the worst days of her life. Any other twelve year old would love reliving their birthday over again.

#

Later, the ultra force marionettes her again. It turns her body into a contemporary dancer with a bent back and wild limbs. A few minutes playing with the computer turned into a psychotic trip to the bathroom. Even the minor moments of the day recycled; Michele was made to brush her teeth. Her fingers became spidery over the faucet wheels to trigger the running water. A rush of strength made her shoot out a beam of toothpaste onto to the mirror. It sticks to it like a slug and landed on the reflection of one of her eyes. The ghost manipulated his play like a controlling director but he does not let her wipe the mirror down. The paste falls and her eye was shown again, this time with horror sparkling in the ring of hazel.

She finds herself sitting on the edge of her bed. Paste water dribbling at the corner of her mouth, on her pajamas, on the bed. The toothbrush remained sticking out of her fist in one hand, a plastic cup in the other. Michele's hair stood on end and her eyes never stopped bulging. If this wasn't all out of her control she would never sleep. The ghost put her to bed at midnight, the same exact time she got sleep after vandalizing the cuckoo clock. Before that realization can hit her like a brick, she blacks out.

The morning she got up was a frustrating one. Her mom went insane with the decorating this time around. Michele's bedroom was dressed with frilly curtains and silly wall decor. This had to stop, she thinks. When her mom came in she welcomed her with a pout.

"Happy birthday," she all but sang.

Michele's head spun in light of those words. She stands up from her bed with great ease, like her body had a lot of weight trimmed off. Her mother looked beautiful today, it could have been the bright smile. The apples of her cheeks were touched up nicely with youthful makeup. It was just a birthday, Michele thinks, why was she dolled up?

"Ma! Stop! I don't want another birthday party, I don't want to turn twelve again!" Michele hollers; her voice screechy.

Her mother furrows her brow, puzzling. Her teeth were bare in the broad smile. She says through chuckles, "you don't have to worry about turning twelve in a long time, honey."

Without any wait, Michele jumps around for a mirror. It took her a while to discover one nailed to the back of her door like a wall scroll. The mirror had stickers ruining it, ones of babies' television shows from the eighties. None of the shows Tommy watched.


	3. Chapter 3

A child stood in front of Michele; not a preteen, like she used to be, a literal six or seven year old lived in the mirror on the door. She had a gummy mouth and stringy hair, she looked at lot like Tommy save for a few years younger. When Michele lifted her arm, she mimes it to a perfect T. When she turned around, she followed in the exact same direction and way with her hands thrown up.

"Easy there hotshot," her dad said. He passed by the room with a special looking box hoisted up in his grip. "You turned six, not sixteen. Your boobies will come another day."

"John!" Mrs. Webster spat in exasperation. Her dangling earrings bounced with the sharp turn of the head. Michele has never seen her mom wear such busy jewelry in a long time. Nor has she seen her in off-the-shoulders dresses, and the brown tassels of her hair bind in a curly bun high on her scalp. Mr. Webster had his youthful good looks back as well, the gray Michele was used to seeing on her father's face was replaced with a vaster set of stubble.

Michele was directed to the party, for her sixth birthday. Littler copies of her friends collected at the floor. They all had different name and were twice as impolite. A girl named Jill tormented her by firing the various noise makers in her face. Michele did not want to get mad at a small child, despite being one as well.

"Where's Tommy?" She calls to her mother who was just about to walk into to the bathroom. Some of the children snickered to each other.

"You didn't invite any 'Tommy'," she quizzes.

"My brother, I mean!" Michele cursed herself for not accepting the fact of this anachronism.

Mrs. Webster had a disturbed look on her well fomented face. She doesn't say a word and closes herself into the bathroom. It's was at the side of the living room, as always. Everything else about the house looked so different. The office upstairs was an office and not Tommy's bedroom, nobody knew who Tommy was. Michele felt dizzy and needed to sleep, but her next sleep could be her last. She will wake up a ball of cells in her mother's body in less than two time skips. The den must have been naked; no desks, no coffee machine, no grandfather clock.

She gasps, the clock may have not been in the home but it was almost certainly still sitting at Antonella's Antique. Her mother didn't stop gawking at it since she was a toddler, she had been a child now. The sands of time must have been flipped the wrong side up. Michele guesses the cause of her rewinding life was the blame of that clock. This all began at its purchase, she knew she couldn't trust it. This time she needed to.

When Mrs. Webster leaves the bathroom, Michele latches to her leg begging. The mother's big nostrils flared, her daughter wanted to share the information that her nose becomes more refined in the future at some point. Michele doesn't because of the very obvious reason concerning that.

"I know what I want for my birthday, Ma. It's a-"

She interrupts, "stop calling me that, what happened to 'Mommy'?"

Michele's body was a liar, younger than her mind. She rolls her eyes. "Mommy, I want a present from the antique store."

"But we already got you a Care Bears doll like you asked, where did antiques come from?" Her mom said rather huffy.

"I changed my mind. I want that clock!"

Mrs. Hermana Webster covers her child's mouth. Heavens know if her husband heard anymore about the desirable antique clock she coveted, she would never hear the end of it. The family was strep for cash—and he thought it was hideous and gaudy. Michele begged some more, even saying that giving it a look will suffice. Her mother doesn't refuse exactly but was hesitant.

"After the party, baby," she whispers. Without anymore words she leaves to grab something in the closet behind her.

 _No, now!_ Michele cries in her head. She sits amongst the other children with her legs crossed like a pretzel. Her angry arms were folded over her bosom. Tommy's universal absence couldn't be enjoyed to the fullest because she had to spend time with equally terrible gadflies. Jill didn't stop pestering her will her noisemakers, the sliver of paper unraveled and licked her face. It reminded her of the cuckoo clock the whole time. The jerky blocks gyrated on their handles as all the others twisted them. It sounded like a party of geese under a running truck creating a series of honks scratching human ears. Michele knew she should have waited, but concluded she had to leave on her own. That way she can freely access the clock without being restricted in the arms of a parent. If done right, she would not have to suffer a punishment for retreating like that as an unsupervised child.

#

Michele escaped by pretending to get a cupcake from the counter in the kitchen. She climbed on top of it and rolled out the window, landing on the plush grass. The neighborhood was mostly identical to the one of the present. She had no problems navigating her way to Antonia's Antiques, albeit having to being elusive. An adult who sees a small child roaming the streets will feel the need to grab them. Whether they have the intention to locate their home, or worse. Michele will have to bake up a lie to convince the store clerk she was fine to be alone in a shop.

It was a short walk over there, but the door could not be reached. She easily could have hiked the kitchen counter but the big entrance button on the door hailed stories over her head, it seems. An adult halts behind the little girl in the way and Michele felt saved. He will ignore her, open the door for her and she can run in. She was picked up by him, to her fearful surprise. Like an eagle snatching prey, the adult takes her by the arms up into the air. Michele tried to claw his face off but her hands were wringing in his squeeze. A scream was freed from her little being, her mouth was instantly covered. The sensation reminded her of her mother, because it was her mother and not a man at all. Somehow this is worse than being abducted.

"Michele Jaclyn Webster- what is wrong with you?!" She sobs after going insane hunting down her daughter. Michele attempted to pry off her fingers but failed. She was slapped very softly but strong enough to assert her mom's rage. It was justified, but still an obstacle. Michele thinks, _Please just this one time; It's an emergency!_ The tears leaked onto her juvenile jawline as does her mom's. They were crying for two complete different reasons. The storm of emotion between them clears up into a lugubrious silence.

With latent sincerity, Michele pleads once more, "I just wanted to walk to the store by myself like a big girl. I want to be a big girl. Let me go in."

Mrs. Webster corrodes her distraught. Her first instinct was to grab her child and take her home without visiting there again as a punishment. She was willing to change her mind, as Michele's innocent stride for independence touched her heart. Evidently, it was enough to allow her to go inside the store just one time, alone.

Michele thought it was the strangest thing that her strict mother let her do something like this. She waited outside, watching her through the window. Whenever she looked back, she would wave and smile. Michele combs Antonia's Antiques feeling more reserved than she was on her journey there. Part of the reason was the sheer size of it through the eyes of a six year old. Yet, every time her parents bring her here she is able to seek out the cuckoo clock with ease. All it took was finding the statuette black horse, walking ten steps to the left and stopping at the framed _I Love Lucy_ picture, go behind it and walk straight ahead. The treasure lies in the back, in the section with the more expensive products. There was the second cashier sitting afar from the main one at the front. Michele didn't like him as much as he was much less pleasant.

"There are no toys sold here," he scoffs. Michele didn't care because she was just grateful he was not overtly reactive to a little girl alone in his shop. He didn't pay attention as she approached the clock, she gulped at its glory. The object responsible for her problems stood tall and laughed at her. The keys, arms and various parts concerning tracking the time were the only things separating it from its current self. The item was too complicated for either six year old or twelve year old girl. It would be easier to fit a camel through the eye of a needle than to get it to work.

Just when she had that doubt, Michele sees a control medium within one of the opening doors. The cuckoo bird pops from his, squawking a song. The long door under him on the body flips open revealing knobs and sprockets. While still complicated, Michele now had an idea to manipulate the clock and thus, time. She was tiny enough to fit most of her body through the opening and still capable of moving. Her fingers flicked and pulled, turned and adjusts. She unknowingly made a few mistakes but operated it to match the day and year of her twelfth birthday. Without double checking, she made a sprint. Her first step ended in a trip, she crashed onto her knees with the ill tied shoelaces scurried around each other. When Michele gets up she jogs slower to the door. Her mother stood lazy with her back against the glass, she had a clear view of her upper torso in that dress. She had a shock of alertness to the knock at the door. Mrs. Webster puts her hand over her heart and heaves a light sigh. She picks up Michele facing her way so she can put her head on the bare shoulder. She hugged her tighter so she can hide her wicked, smug smile.


	4. Chapter 4

She wakes up afraid. Somebody else might take her place in the mirror. Whatever she had done to the clock the day before obviously saved her life. Her eyes open to a clear world, and not desolate darkness. Michele was alive but she wanted to be more than alive. Michele wanted her life put together correctly. The room that held her looked nothing like the one she grew up in. The bullet shaped window that was always at the wall behind her head was gone, the only window seen was a circular one over at the dresser. Her bed was queen sized and fit for almost four people. This was neither her normal room or even her house, she had never been here before. The structure was totally off with peaks in the walls and a misplaced closet.

Michele gets up in her older body, she was undeniably in the future. Her head was higher up than when she was six, but also higher up than when she was twelve. There was no need to look far for the troublesome magic clock, because a calendar was hung near the door. According to it, she was all the way in 2015.

2015, she barely lived through the naughties. The hair on Michele's hair regained its fullness, she puts a hand to it. With one petting motion she sees two rings on one finger. Michele never liked rings and always stuck to necklaces and studded earnings. One of them was a gold band choking her finger, along with it was a crested diamond on a white ring so fine it was the width of a fingernail. She must have been at a point in her life when she gets married.

She takes handfuls of her hair and screams. She can't be married, she was just a preteen. It would have been a man she never got the chance to know. What if it was a woman? For all she knew she could have had children too. There will be people around she never met, talking to her about experiences she never shared. Like a terrible case of Dissociated Identity Disorder, at least previously she relived times she already were cognizant with and had a grasp on everything.

A man, presumingly her husband, came in. His eyebrows were nice and big. He had a well maintained set of raven scruff, with a collection of stubble shaped like a neat triangle under his plump bottom lip.

"Good morning." He kissed a frozen Michele. She had to force herself to say nothing but words fell out like foam.

"Who are you?" She felt stupid.

The man laughed an uncomfortable laugh. His tar black eyes squint in pleasure, with just as inky eyelashes fluttering. He was pretty but it felt wrong. In her mind she was a child married to a grown man.

Michele paws his chest and grumbles, "say your name, your voice sounds weird today."

He stared flummoxed, stunned in quiet thought as he sits on the bed. The man with the black eyes cleans his throat with a small cough. The tongue comes out halfway and twists towards the sky, he exercised it. He put words out of his mouth for her to hear. To satisfy his wife's solicit.

"Mohammad," he nonchalantly said. His voice flat with disbelief, the mention of the name stricken her dearly.

Michele pants under her breath, a thousand gasps broke her line of speech. She was astonished, and delighted at the same time. She leans in grinning ear to ear and throws her arms over his shoulders. The most secret pages of her diary foresighted the future, Mrs. Michele Deaton became a reality.

They did have children, two boys. Both sharing the tuft of shiny chocolate hair as their farther. One had the cute turned up nose he had as a child. It was the weekend and they were off from school; they came to Michele asking for her to take them to the movies to see _Goosebumps_. With complete happiness, she did. Not just because she wanted to become a more carefree and affable parent than her own mom, but because the child in her wanted to see a kids movie. There was no rush to turn back time to resign to the present, the cuckoo clock was in fact in her house. It rests within the lobby and in between two green couches. Her older self had taste, she muses. The home was customized to her liking even though it was too dignified.

Michele's whole world turned from a nightmare to an idylls with a few turns of a clock's knobs. She owned a home without the control of other adults. She did not have to go to school anymore. She was married to her childhood crush and had children with him. Tommy seemed to be expunged from earth forever.

Mohammad invites Tommy in, after the ring of the doorbell drove the Deaton family dog mad. A yapping yorkie terrier shuffled over his long locks that drafted behind him like a cape. Michele missed Babs; she was dreading seeing Tommy. She waited at the short steps of the hall that reach down to the front door. Her arms folded around her legs, a cold zephyr come in through it and iced her skin.

"Hey sis," the other man said. He gave her those Italian kisses with the cheeks touching. Tommy's voice wasn't the awful screeching of a six year old, it was a cool, low voice. His skin was still pasty and his lips were still rosy, but he looked like another person. It should be noted he was tenfold more enjoyable to be around. Michele spent time with him after the movies. He even drives her and her sons to the theater, she was too scared to drive herself. Mohammad talked to the ticket master and paid for everything. The best of both worlds; not controlled by adults but taken care of. A few moments were alien to her, there was a part of the day where Mohammad asks for a dance. He wanted to do a sensual waltz to their wedding song. She wishes him to clarify what it was because she "forgot". It was Time After Time, the Cindy Lauper song. _Of course it is_ , she rolls her eyes with her inner snark.

Michele wanted to know everything, but asks her questions in the form of non suspicious daily linguistics. "What's the word?"

Tommy laughs like Mohammad had that morning. "Why do you talk like you're from the 90s? 'What's the word?'"

She grinds her teeth to ease her stress. Her brother tells her his news, he wasn't married but had a girlfriend. He asks for advice on how to be more romantic. Michele couldn't keep a straight face. Tommy said a lot of things about how he hates his job, wants to save up for Nike shoes, and wishes he had a house like she did.

Michele stretches on the lawn chair, fakes a sip of the vile beer he pours for her. She also fakes casualties as she says, "so where are mom and dad?"

He looks at her funny, with a frown. "Dad _and_ mom?"

"Yes," Michele whispers. He was reluctant to answer which frightened her.

"Dad is home," Tommy slowly spoke, "mom is at Rejoicing"

Michele felt her throat tighten like a noose. "'Rejoicing'?"

"You know, that cemetery on Wilson road?"


	5. Final

Michele's eyes are slimy with tears. Through further investigation, she finds out the unspoken news. Her mother, Hermana Webster, had past away. She developed a cancer in her liver when Michele was twenty two, and her brother was nineteen. Her chances for survival were low as she also had cirrhosis. She never had a problem with alcohol, it was a byproduct of hepatitis. Their father to this day lived at the old house alone with Tommy. He took care of him as he was in agonizing loneliness from the loss of his wife. Tommy had no clue why his sister couldn't recall the most notable and traumatic days of their lives. The grandfather clock was passed down to Michele. Before she can ultimately go to the present for good, she visits the grave.

Rejoicing was hard to get to, especially for someone with the mentality of a twelve year old. She told no one to drop her off because she wishes to be alone. Michele took the bus, something she learn enough about. The ride lasted two hours; for two hours Michele sat in her seat with her racing mind. Even after going back to her preteen life, this was still inevitable.

The grave had a satin ribbon that was emerald colored and pinned to the headstone. A prayer was engraved into it, one of her father's favorite prayers. Michele couldn't understand it, the words were too big. She bends over to fix the flowers, one white rose was holding her sad little head down. Michele sings a song, her voice so soft and mumbling. It went like this,

 _If you're lost you can look and you will find me  
Time after time  
If you fall I will catch you, I will be waiting  
Time after time_

When Michele hops the bus back home, a dark wind blew the petals away. A little girl on the bus asked her why she was crying.

#

With Mohammad stuck at work and the boys at school, Michele was left behind at home. Did her older self have a job, she wonders. Was she shirking it if so? She drops by the lobby, the grandfather cuckoo clock frowning at her from a distance. She came up to it like a guilt child to a parent. Her hands were folded behind her back and her eyes were downward. By sheer coincidence or unaware time wasting, the clock strikes an hour. The big arm and little arm twisted towards the sky. They looked like they were arrows pointing at the 12, they pointed and laughed at the number. They were really laughing at Michele, reminding her of the age she left behind. The bird leaves him home looking the same as ever. Michele was grimaced by him, he was grumpy as normal. This time he talked like a parrot.

"That really hurt you jerk!" He crows.

The woman's face was wet and long. The oddity of the scenario did not phase her at all. She let the animated animal bad mouth her all he wanted. Thankful for her, he stops. The cuckoo wore his serious face but he had a touch of softness to it. The cantankerous sass was sucked out. Michele apologize, there was no one else home to walk in on seeing an adult talk and answer to a cuckoo clock.

The bird fatherly speaks, "tell me what you feel and I'll let you change the time back."

She sobs, "I miss my mom, I miss my old life. Being married to Mohammad and Tommy not being a brat isn't worth it."

The control door opens and exposes the buttons. She had a better hang of them now, no mistakes were made. Michele cranks the knob the right amount of time and tinkers the clock arms. It was a good thing the last day she spent in the present was her birthday, that way it was easy to remember. She took further precautions to perfect every digit to the correct format. Finally, Michele closes the doors and goes back to bed. Even if time doesn't get fixed, she needed the sleep.

#

She wakes up in her old room, the familiar sights and smells hit her hard. The sun distributing light from the window behind her head, where it's supposed to be. No babyish stickers tarnishing anything or mirrors on the back of the door. A banner was hung in her living room that reads "Michele's 12th birthday" with the last word starting with a lowercase. Her family were all present at the kitchen table having banana foster pancakes. Everything seemed normal until Tommy spoke.

"Elehcim si a norom," he gurgles.

Michele stands up to scream, "I put everything backwards!"

The other Websters laugh, especially Tommy, who bowed from their lionizations of his joke. He piped on about how he knew she would fall for it. Normally Michele would want to thrash him, but instead she explodes with glee. Her mom was enlightened by her daughter's behavior rather than disturbed. Michele was vibrant and grateful and for some reason passionate about liver care ahead of time in case of problematic diseases. The mother asks her why she was so happy, she lies and says it was because it's her birthday.

 ** _The End_**


End file.
